


tipping the velvet

by unrequitedexistence



Category: Berena - Fandom, Holby City
Genre: F/F, berena - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8839663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrequitedexistence/pseuds/unrequitedexistence
Summary: They toast their undeniable sexual chemistry back into the closet, but it all comes crashing down...





	

The toast still rang in her ears, the ripples of sound from two glasses, both half full and half empty, meeting halfway and becoming, for a brief moment, whole, _one_.

_Possibility_.

The ashes still thick on her tongue, on her throat, from words that had missed their calling, spreading seeds of self-combusting doubt... where there had been none.

She had kissed Serena because she wanted to. She had kissed Serena because Serena had made it impossible, _unbearable_ , not to. Desire had been given no role, overpowering devotion having claimed the monologue as if the purpose of its birth.

She had wanted to give Serena the world, the universe, _everything_ , but her hands had been empty of anything but her. There had been no hesitation as she had pressed all she had against Serena’s mouth. It had scared the life out of her, not just the wanting, the _needing_ , but the trust she felt in delivering her every open wound, her every healing scar.

In retrospect, it should have come as no revelation.

She would never forget the first time Serena had touched her. They had been talking about coffee, _strong and hot is all I care about on a day like today_. Serena had reached out for her as if it was the most natural thing to do, and Bernie’s body had surprised her by complying with the unexpected script, by welcoming the touch instead of flinching away, by savoring it, by actively seeking it, by craving it the instant it was gone…

Serena Campbell, beautifully, _mesmerizingly_ , candid. Her hyper self-awareness charming, daring, infectious… _hypnotizing_ , even. Oh, and those lips… they knew _much_ more than what they teasingly shared.

Bernie stood by the nurses’ station, an open chart in one hand and a pen in the other. Instead of traveling the appropriate lines requiring a signature, the other end seemed to be getting acquainted with paths longing for particular attention. She was lost in thought, in memories, in _could have been_ s…

A monitor somewhere on the ward went off, bringing her back from her little reverie rather abruptly. She took a deep breath and… that was when she noticed the faint, but _undeniably_ there, scent of Serena. She immediately turned in the direction of their office. The light was on.

It was Serena’s day off, her sudden appearance a rare occurrence, a _gift_ , that Bernie decided, there and then, should be celebrated as such. Her brain had sounded the alarm, pointing out that perhaps something terrible had happened, but Bernie vehemently ignored it, telling herself that Serena would have called, that someone would have contacted her because… well, they were colleagues, they were _friends_.

At the sight of blood she let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she had been holding. She quickly, and quietly, assessed the situation, her eyes mapping every inch of exposed skin, her hands fists wanting to explore Serena into wholeness.

There had been many scenarios unconsciously playing in her head, but she certainly hadn’t expected to find Serena attempting to suture her own palm.

“Serena, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” She asked once she found voice in the certainty that there was no need to panic.

“Dealing with my own mess, it would seem.”

Serena’s eyes didn’t acknowledge her, remaining focused on the intricate task at hand, but her voice did, falling into a familiar tone flavored of comfort, of trust, even if slightly tainted of disappointment, a consequence of the night before.

“Do you think it wise?” Bernie asked, studying the display of paraphernalia Serena had somehow collected from the ward without having her presence detected.

“Never claimed to be.” Serena replied victoriously, having removed what appeared to be the last piece of glass from her wound.

“Touché.” Bernie grabbed a pair of gloves from the package on Serena’s desk and pulled one of the visitors’ chairs closer to where Serena sat.

“Allow me.” Bernie said as she reached for Serena’s hand. "What happened?" She asked as she studied the wound. A single cut, deep but now clean. Stitches clearly necessary.

"I broke my glass of Shiraz.” Serena started, sighing deeply as she rested her head on her free hand, her tone almost mournful for the waste of good wine. “In my hand. I was distracted."

"And the glasses?" Bernie asked, finally addressing the curious accessory adorably perched on Serena’s nose.

"Ridiculously small font.” Serena raised an eyebrow as Bernie looked up at her. “What? I was reading.”

"That must have been quite the book." Bernie murmured, making sure Serena would feel nothing but a pinch as she started closing.

" _Tipping the Velvet_ is quite extraordinary, yes."

Goose bumps formed on the skin of Bernie’s exposed arms, a reaction not to the implications of the somewhat _erotic_ nature of the literature mentioned, but to the suggestiveness of Serena’s voice.

"You are reading Sarah Waters?" She asked, recognizing her failure at sounding nonchalant as she _felt_ Serena’s half smile.

“Just because you think wise not to act on it, doesn't mean I get to ignore the fact that I am attracted to another woman. I am culturing myself.”

For once Bernie was glad to have her hands occupied. The ease with which Serena carried herself in her skin, the ease with which she owned every single inch of it, the ease with which she navigated within it, teased from its very core, it was… _addictive_.

“Quite a grip you have there.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Three carefully done stitches, with luck no blatant scar. _I am here_ , Bernie thought to herself as she ran a gloved thumb over the now protected, mending cut. _I want to stay_ , she brought Serena’s hand to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her skin.

“All better.”

“Bernie…”

"How does it feel?" Bernie asked, her eyes finally coming up to meet Serena’s.

“It feels…” Serena expected Bernie to back down, but instead she stood her ground with a look impossible to describe without falling into an endless stream of adjectives that would never be _quite_ right. “I feel my every inch, awake, alert, expecting…”

A rather sharp intake of a breath as Bernie’s lips found Serena’s palm once again, tracing a path to her wrist with her tongue.

“ _Intoxicating_. Everything you want, crave, _need_ , at a distance of a touch, but not quite within reach… It’s bloody frustrating, that’s what it is.”

Bernie tugged gently on her wrist, Serena’s chair delivering her to the space between her legs. Bernie leaned over, nuzzled Serena’s neck, taking a deep breath of a scent that had wrapped itself around her ever since that first day. She placed a kiss there, then up her jaw, finding her cheek before resting her forehead against it.

"You know, I was never really that wise..." She whispered as she brought their now linked hands to rest on Serena’s thigh.

“How disappointing. Now that was I finally starting to believe you…”

* * *

 "We fitted together like the two halves of an oyster-shell. I was Narcissus, embracing the pond in which I was about to drown. However much we had to hide our love, however guarded we had to be about our pleasure, I could not long be miserable about a thing so very sweet. Nor, in my gladness, could I quite believe that anybody would be anything but happy for me if only they knew."

_Tipping the Velvet_ by Sarah Waters

**Author's Note:**

> For a moment there (read _for about two months_ ) I thought I would never write anything about these two again. This happened, though. A bit out of nowhere, really. Please forgive the madness as I am still finding my way back into writing.


End file.
